The Silver Comet
by Sonicsuns
Summary: She lives in a mansion and works for the government. He lives in the projects and works for himself. With old enemies reemerging on all sides, can Elastigirl and The Silver Comet learn to trust each other? Should they?


The tattered cardboard sign displayed a single word, scrawled in black marker: "CHANGE"

It was propped up against the old-timer's left foot, right next to a tattered brown hat. The man himself was seated on another panel of cardboard, slumped against the concrete wall of the subway station, apparently sleeping. As one might expect of a homeless man, his clothes were dirty and disheveled. His hair was gray, though a closer inspection would have revealed him to be in his 50's at most. He was, in fact, quite powerfully built. His thick biceps were plainly visible, even through his long sleeves.

But no one bothered to look. Evening rush hour came and went, and the man with the cardboard sign – his name was Hank – heard the footsteps of hundreds of people. Now and then he'd hear a coin fall into his hat, and he'd grumble a word of thanks. He knew from experience that people spent more time looking at the hat than they did looking at him. It was hard for wealthy folks to look at homeless people. It made them uncomfortable. It made _him_ invisible.

Why, it was practically a superpower.

The hours dragged on. 7pm. 8pm. 9pm. But Hank didn't especially mind. He was patient. Not like those foolhardy supers, no. Not like the _those_ morons. Damn supers always had to rush into things.

Two sets of footsteps approached. Tourists, he thought. Out-of-towners. He knew they were tourists by the way they walked, back and forth, skittering like mice, unsure of where to go, and of course they were muttering to each other about directions. A man and a woman, and from the tone of their conversation he could tell that they were probably married.

Hank breathed deeper, still pretending to be asleep. A large subway network map was just above him, bolted into the wall. A line of concrete pillars ran parallel to the wall; there was one on either side of the map. Damn planners didn't know the first thing about robbery. Luckily, Hank knew quite a bit more.

"Honey," said the woman, "dear, look, there's a map."

She approached, and her husband followed.

"But I'm telling you, the north line leads straight to Hazeltown. I saw it on the-"

"Let's just check..."

She was only a couple feet from the wall now, and Hank kept careful track her position. One of them dropped a coin in his hat, and he smiled inwardly. _One good turns deserves another._

"Don't move!" snapped a figure to his right. The thief emerged from the shadow of a pillar, gun drawn. The woman gasped.

"Stay right where you are," said the thief. "Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt. You understand?"

The couple paused a moment, in shock. The thief took another step forward, leaving his back exposed to Hank.

"Hey!" said the thief. "I'm not joking here."

That's when Hank rose to his feet. Slowly. Lackadaisically. As if he had just woken up and had no idea what was going on. He stretched and yawned dramatically, and the thief heard him and spun around. _That_ was the moment he'd been waiting for.

The important thing with guns is to always know where they're pointed. In that exact moment of surprise, mid-spin, the thief's gun was pointed at neither the tourists nor at Hank himself. Perfect. He launched off the wall like a panther, his left hand grabbing at the weapon and his right hand grabbing at the thief's throat.

Poor bastard didn't stand a chance.

He fell backwards and slammed into the ground as the woman screamed. Hank crushed the thief's wrist and he quickly let go of the gun. Actually he would have dropped it soon anyway, since the impact of the fall and the pressure on his windpipe were quickly depriving him of consciousness. Hank held him there for a moment, ignoring his kicks and struggles. He kept his eyes on the thief's face, waiting for him to pass out. A few moments later, the thief slumped to the ground. The tourists stood there in shock.

Without any fuss, Hank got up and took the discarded gun from the gray tile floor. "Can't just leave this lying around" he muttered, and pocketed it.

"S-sir?" said the tourist-man, "I, uh, thank you."

"Green line" said Hank, casually.

"What?"

"Ya wanna get to Hazeltown, right? Normally you'd take the red line and get off at Parley Sikes, but the Parley station got closed the other day. Bomb Voyage and all that." He pointed down the tunnel. "You wanna take the red line south two stops to Apple Valley, switch to the green line, then go one stop up to Benson. Get off at Benson, then take a cab to Hazeltown. Fastest route there is."

"But shouldn't we...shouldn't we call the cops of something?"

The Hank glanced down at the thief. He sighed. "Yeah, I suppose we should. Though if you ask me, the real question is why the coppers weren't here in the first place." He wandered over to a payphone, muttering to himself. "Damn cutbacks. Everyone wants to let supers do the job for 'em"

"Excuse me", said the woman, still deeply confused, "Who are you?"

Hank stopped at the payphone and turned around.

"Just some guy, ma'am. Just a guy who got sick of the way things are going in this town, so he decided to make a change."


End file.
